Krent Miin
by TheCareBear
Summary: AU. Valatta Aciciu of Cyrodiil, the blind Dragonborn, holds a dark secret that only she and Tullius know. If anyone were ever to discover Valatta's secret, it could tear the Empire asunder and lead to unimaginable war. Can she keep such a secret safe? Or will everything she holds dear, come crumbling down around her?


**I own Valatta Aciciu of Cyrodiil, all else to Bethesda**

**A/N...**

**Hi, me again. I'm testing the waters with this one, I want to gauge the reaction for a truly mature piece, that is not just sex one-shot.**

**Warning: Implied death, blood, yelling, almost rape, and blindness **

* * *

The neighing. The footfalls of horses against broken stone and dirt roads. The creaking of the wooden cart. A startled deer running through the bush. The twittering of birds in the trees. The fluttering of wings. The breathing of the men around her; that is what Valatta focused in on last, the breathing of the men. She smirks and leans back, taking in the sounds around her. Her peace is interrupted by talking. The voice, male, comes from in front of her. Definitely a Nord, the voice is too heavy, too grounded to be from Cyrodiil and not high enough to be an elf; no, definitely Nord.

"Hey, you," the Nord begins, "You're finally awake."

Valatta raises her eyebrow slightly, "I was not asleep, Nord."

The Nord grunts, a question in his tone, "But your eyes…" he suddenly stops, realization dawning on him. "You're blind," he whispers softly, mostly to himself.

Valatta smirks, a chuckle in her throat. "So what if I am blind? Just because I do not have eyes, does not mean I cannot see." She points to the milky, white film covered eyes.

The Nord gulps and shifts slightly away from Valatta, "I didn't mean to offend," he says.

Valatta turns her dead eyes towards the sound of the Nord's voice, "Who said I was offended? Though I cannot see your face, your voice is sweet enough. I'll just think of you as one poor unfortunate soul bringing calm to another." She offers the Nord a smile.

Silence descends onto the cart, until the Nord speaks again. "You were trying to cross the border, right?" Valatta nods her head in affirmation. The Nord continues, "Walked right into that Imperial ambush; same as us and that thief over there." He jerks his head to the side.

And as if on cue, the thief pipes up, "Damn you Stormcloaks! Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy." The thief grumbles, before falling silent again, allowing Valatta to think.

Here she was, bound on a cart in a convoy full of the Stormcloak rebels. She did not know where they were headed, but she knew that death awaited them at the end of this ride. At this, she smiles. Finally will she die; and her torment of a life will be extinguished. She hopes that she will find some peace.

"If they weren't looking for you," the thief spoke towards the Nord again, "I would've stolen that horse and be halfway to Hammerfell." The thief turns towards Valatta, the false empathy clear in his voice, "You there; you and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks," the thief spits out the word, before continuing, "The Empire wants."

Valatta chuckles gently, "We are all together now, in binds, horse thief. There is little that we can change."

The imperial horseman leans his head to the side, speaking to his captives "Shut up back there!"

While Valatta metaphorically stares daggers at the horseman, the thief looks at the gagged across from him, "And what's wrong with him?"

The Nord hits the thiefs' knee with his. "Watch your tongue," he hisses, "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"

A gasp escapes from both the thief and Valatta. "Ulfric," Valatta repeats, "The Jarl of Windhelm?" His grunt alerts Valatta to his position on the cart. She turns towards the noise and speaks to the gagged man, "You're the leader of the rebellion. If they have captured you, then . . ."

As Valatta trails off, her suspicions confirmed, the thief shakes and sniffles in terror, "Oh Gods, where are they taking us?"

The Nord across from Valatta answers the thief, "I don't know where we are going, but Sovngarde awaits."

The thief whimpers softly, "No. This isn't happening. This can't be happening!"

The Nord turns to the thief again, "Hey," he says softly, "what village are you from, horse thief?"

The thief sniffles and whimpers at the Nord, "Why do you care?"

The Nord turns and looks at the approaching village, "A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

Seeing the approaching village, the thief whimpers again, "Rorikstead," he answers, "I-I'm from Rorikstead."

"And you," the Nord asks Valatta, drawing her attention on him again, "Where are you from?"

Valatta bites her bottom lips and gently smiles, "I'm from the Imperial City."

The Nords' eyes widen slightly, "An Imperial?" he asks, boundless questions in his tone.

Valatta nods her head and opens her mouth to reply, when the cart comes to a sudden halt. A man is yelling. Her ears twitch at the sound of approaching footfalls of both man and beast. The man is still yelling, and it takes Valatta a moment to recognize the voice; Tullius.

"Get her out of that cart, right this instant!" Tullius yells at his men and points towards Valatta. Several imperials reach forward and pull Ulfric and the horse thief off of the cart. They grip Valatta roughly, pulling off of the creaking cart, leaving the Nord alone. Once she is off, Tullius in on her in an instant. "Valatta, you fool of a girl." Tullius' rough hands wrap around her and pull her close. Valatta blinks back tears and enjoys this embrace.

"General," a new female voice enters the conversation. "General, you know this traitor?" Valatta instantly dislikes this new voice. A woman, most definitely from Cyrodiil, but she seems to try and deepen her voice, to sound rougher and harsher, more like a Nord. While a Nord has the deep richness of culture, this woman is only faking it; and not very well at that. "Sir, she took down three of our Legionaries; she is a traitor."

Tullius separates from Valatta and turns towards the fake Nord. He is silent for a few moments, before he responds, "Of course she did, I trained her after all; but she wouldn't have attacked, unless she felt threatened." Tullius turns back towards Valatta. "What happened, Valatta?"

"I was near the border, when some foolish Legionaries stopped me," she begins. Tullius takes out a small blade and cuts off her bindings. Valatta rubs her wrists and smiles, "Thanks. But, anyway the Legionaries demanded who I was and what I was doing near the border. I answered their questions. I told them that I am Valatta Aciciu of Cyrodiil and that I was merely walking. Needless to say, they did not believe me.

"They grabbed me roughly and hauled me off. We walked for a few miles, before I was shoved into a tent. I could smell the meat cooking on the fire outside. One of them came in and tied my hands together. He questioned me, asking who I was and where the Stormcloaks were." Valatta stops and rolls her aching shoulders, looking forward to a hot bath. She swallows and breaths out, trying to hide her emotions.

"I told him who I was again and that I have heard of the Stormcloaks; who hasn't in Skyrim? They did not like that answer. He kicked me, here," she traces a small half circle just above her navel, overtop her rags. Tullius' face darkens. "That continued for a few days. They would question and I would answer the same way. Then they would hit and batter me.

"On the fourth night, they got sloppy." Valatta's hands shake and she hugs herself tightly, trying to calm herself. Tullius gently places a hand on her shoulder and she leans into the touch. "The mead was strong that day. I could smell it in the air, on their clothes, and on their breaths. He came in at night. I never got questioned at night, so I knew something was off.

"He ran is hands over me, muttering on how I was a whore and a liar. He said that he would get the answers out of me, one way or another. He tore my clothes off and raised my hands above my head, as his hands explored my body. My body reacted to the chill in the air and the touch of that . . . pig. He called me a whore again and said that if I liked that, he would show me something wonderful.

"He slid two fingers into me, until they reached my barrier. He was surprised that I am a virgin; he said that whores' cannot be virgins, and that he will correct that soon enough. I fought against him, but he straddled my body. I bucked up against him, and he chuckled, saying that he will deflower me soon enough. I spit into his face, and he slapped me hard. When my mouth opened, he thrust himself into it. That is when I struck.

"I bit down hard on him, until he screamed and pulled back. He was cursing and grabbing himself. I stood and dove at him, my arms wrapping around his neck, pulling and twisting until there was a snap and he stopped moving. I took his sword from his body and cut myself free. That is when I killed them. I struck without mercy and I cleaved into them. They whimpered and begged like cowards and I slowly killed them. I cut off their members and sliced open their bellies, having them bleed slowly to death. I made it an agony for them.

"That following morning, the fake Nord and the convoy of imperials stumbled upon the camp. The rest is history." Valatta pants and slumps down unto a barrel, exhausted from telling her tale. While was not a good thing that she was blind, even she was lucky from seeing the cold, hard look that entered the eyes of Tullius and the Nord in the cart.

"What the fake Nord says is true, I did kill those men and that does make me a traitor," Valatta says, her voice still quivering.

"I am not letting you die on that block, Valatta, you are too important to die here in the frozen north of Skyrim," Tullius says, pulling her close to him, protecting her.

"And what of the Thalmor, Tullius? They must surely know who I am. Am I too important to die by their hand?" Valatta whispers into Tullius's ear

"I've buried all the records of you. No one, but you or I know of your identity. Except your Father, of course," Tullius answers back.

Pushing back from Tullius, Valatta runs her fingers through her long, black hair. "Are you just going to sweep this under the rug, then?"

"I hardly have to, Valatta," Tullius responds. "You were more than justified in killing those Legionaries. I, as Imperial General, grant you amnesty for your minor crimes." Tullius turns around to face the crowd of townspeople, Stormcloaks, Imperial Soldiers, and most importantly, the Thalmor agents. "If anyone here disapproves of this action, they can take it up with me, personally." Tullius turns back slightly, to look at Valatta and smiles slightly, "She is my . . . Daughter, and I will not have any harm come to her." He turns back around, obviously lying and hoping to the Divines that the Thalmor buy into it.

Elenwen smiles tightly from horseback, drawing herself up taller, as she is faced with such an obvious lie. She does not know of the girl personally, but she has never seen a record on her either; which means someone has gone through great lengths to hide her. She knows that this blind woman is not the daughter of the General—the records indicate he has no family—but she still does not know who that woman is. And if there is anything that Elenwen hates, is an unknowable threat.

So, Elenwen smiles tightly and gently urges her horse forward, until she is towering over the General and the mysterious blind woman. "You had better get your . . . daughter some proper clothing, General. It is awfully cold out here," she says, poison dripping off of every word. With a snap of the head, she moves the horse away and towards her Thalmor entourage.

"I want every record of that girl found immediately," she hisses in a low whisper, "And I want her followed. If she becomes a threat to us or our mission here in Skyrim, then I want her eliminated." Elenwen glances back over to the General and his 'daughter'; hate, distrust, and a small amount of fear, swimming in the pools of her eyes. The blind woman's identity will be discovered and she will be dealt with accordingly, for Elenwen is not one to be kept down for long.


End file.
